


Waiting on Godfrey

by Magentaxx3



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Banter, Comedy, Explicit Language, Farce, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Larry Stylinson Is Real, M/M, Self-Acceptance, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28432323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magentaxx3/pseuds/Magentaxx3
Summary: Louis and Harry are waiting on Godfrey.As the evening threatens to descend into ridiculous, nonsensical mayhem, the two men are forced to confront some hard truths.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	Waiting on Godfrey

Waiting on Godfrey

2.06pm The Party

“Lou, what time did Godfrey say he’d be here?”

“He didn’t say, Haz.”

“What does he want?”

“No idea, mate.”

“Where’s he coming from?”

“Somewhere, I think.”

“Is he coming alone?”

“Who knows.”

“Well, at least I have all of the facts.” Harry glances over at Louis who is sitting cross legged on the couch eating cereal and watching ‘Wacky Races’. 

“What you got there, Harold?”

“Just some toasted sourdough toast, homemade peanut butter, sliced banana and a drizzle of local organic honey.”

“The brekkie of a psychopath” Louis states, his eyes never leaving the screen.

“Well, we’re out of Crunchy nut cornflakes.”

“Frosties for wankers.”

Harry narrows his eyes, “Frosties are for people who can’t face reality, Lou.”

Louis groans as he shovels Coco Pops into his mouth.

“You’ve certainly a lot of opinions on breakfast food,” Harry smirks, “What are you? An Eggs-pert?”

Louis flicks milk at him using his spoon and rolls his eyes. “How the fuck does “The Mean Machine” never win, that fucker is propelled by rockets and can fucking fly?”

“Because they always cheat Lou. Wacky Races is a morality tale, warning us that “Cheaters never prosper.” A very important lesson.”

“What’s the lesson when that piece of shit the “Compact Pussycat” wins.”

“The importance of accessorising and appreciation of the much maligned Go-Go boot.” Harry takes a sip of his freshly squeezed orange juice, wincing slightly at the tartness.

“Hey, Harry?”

“Yes, Louis.”

“I told Godfrey we’d have a bit of a party.”

Harry lowers his slice of sourdough toast and stares at him.

Louis, feeling his stare, looks quickly at him and then back to the TV.

“Well, Louis?” Harry gestures with his toast.

“Well, what?” he responds, milk dribbling out the side of his mouth.

“Don’t you think you’d better stand up first? If you’re gonna pull a party outta your ass?”

Louis shakes his spoon at him, “Haz listen; you look after the food and drink and I’ll people the party. It’ll be proper mint.The party of the year, the decade, the fucking century. The sort that starts off fun and then turns kinda nasty. Classic LT style.”

“So you think you can throw a party together in a matter of hours?”

“Watch and learn you grandpa trouser wearing freak!”

*****

2.43pm The Haribo Drawer

Louis walks into the kitchen, where Harry is bent over the cooker. “So how’s the Food and Drink situation looking, Hazza?”  
Harry turns towards him; his face red and his ‘kiss-the-cook’ apron is hosting a many and varied melody of stains. Putting his hand to his forehead and closing his eyes.“Louis William Tomlimnson, what did you promise me last night?”

“Never to use “Party” as a verb.”

“No, the other thing.”

“Don’t forget to put out the bins and wash the dishes.”

“And what did you do?”

“Forgot to pu...” Louis smiles and shakes a finger at Harry, “Whoa! almost walked right into that one.”

Harry sighs and shakes his head. “Anyway, I need you to help me. Here!” Harry hands him a bag of pasta. 

Louis turns them over and studies the instructions. “It says here, boil water. What am I? A Chemist?”

“OK, obviously boiling water is beyond the realms of your capabilities.” Harry thrusts a plate towards him, “Here, put the Roasted vine ripened tomato crostini on this serving platter.” 

Unable to co-ordinate the holding of two objects at once, Louis drops the plate. “That was 90% gravity, mate.” he says quickly, his eyes wide.

Harry rubs his temples and inwardly regrets all his decisions that led him to this point.“Could you be any more useless?”

“Depends. What else is there to do?”

“Oh, just clean it up.” Harry resigns with a disgruntled wave of his hand.

Louis looks blankly at him.

“With a dustpan and brush.”

Louis’ face is unaltered.

“Under the sink.”

“Oh, right!” Louis chuckles.

Harry rolls his eyes as he opens a drawer. “Louis, why are there Haribo in the cutlery drawer?”

Louis looks up from the floor, smiling. “I think you mean, why is there cutlery in the Haribo drawer, Harold?”

Harry watches Louis, as he crouches to sweep up the broken plate, his hair falling across his eyes, his tongue slightly visible as if the task required his full concentration. 

“Let’s get a move on; Godfrey will be here any minute.”

“Then we are gonna Parr-tay!”

Harry turns away, unable to control his smile

*****

3.15pm Sniper, chef, model, dickhead

“Maybe we should phone whats-his-face and ask him if we can borrow his pulsating disco lights?” Harry is arranging his cheese platter.

“You want me to phone whats-his-face and ask him if we can borrow his pulsating disco lights?” Louis repeats from the couch where he is playing FIFA.

“Yes! I think pulsating disco lights will add to the ambience, encourage dancing, I love dancing.” Harry gestures to the room with his cheese knife and attempts a Beyonce hair flick.

“You would be advised never to dance, you look like a coma victim being stood up and zapped with a cattle prod.”

“At least I have moves, better than your solitary double gun fingers move with head bop.”

“Ok, Ok, what’s his number?”

“I’ve no idea, I’ve never met him.” Harry mumbles as he repositions the Brie.

“So how the fuck do we contact them, you bizarre bitch?” Louis pauses his game and narrows his eyes at Harry.

“Oi Oi shitsippers” Jackson Gloss walks out of their bathroom, zipping up his trousers.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” Louis shrieks from the couch, as he throws a cushion at their intruder.

“Croydon!” Jackson simply states catching the overstuffed missile of cloth.

“I mean, how the fuck did you get in, mate?”

“Jimmyed your bathroom window was open, didn't I?”

“So essentially, you broke in? This is a home invasion?” Harry shakes a slice of Double Gloucester at him.

“Didn’t want to bother ya, who knows what the fuck you two get up too in here?” Jackson smirks and raises an eyebrow at Louis, who glares at him and gives him the finger. 

“I’m a fucking guest in your home. You need to work on your people skills, Lou.”

“Shut the fuck up Jackson!”

“See what I mean!”

“How's the band going? Any gigs coming up?” Harry asks, taking the cushion from their guest and replacing it on the couch.

“We split, man!”

“What happened?” Harry is genuinely concerned.

“Got messy, mate. A love triangle, total Fleetwood Mac shit. Although, there was four of them, so that was more of a love square. Mind you, they did make some of their best music back then.”

“Ahhh, Rumours.” Harry nods.

“No. No, it's all true, mate, google it. It was fucking wild.”

“Why you ‘ere so early?” Louis asks, irritated.

“Any of you fuckers speak French?” Jackson asks slumping onto the couch beside Louis.

“Un peu” Harry smiles, sitting on the armrest.

“Ok Harry!” Jackson cocks his head in Harry’s direction and makes a face at Louis. “Seriously, I need someone who can speak french.”

“Why?” Louis leans back on the couch.

“Me new girlfriend is French,” turning towards Harry, “She’s a pastry chef, Har, you're into all that shit, know any French?”

“Un peu” Harry repeats.

“Ok is he having a stroke? Fix him Lou!”

“He’s speaking french you dick!”

“Oh! Fucking ace! Can you talk to her, she doesn’t speak a word of English, former underwear model you know” Jackson wiggles his eyebrows and winks.

“So you’re seeing a former underwear model? On what deserted island with no chance of escape did this happen.” Louis smirks, slapping Jackson on the shoulder.

“Met her at the Happyshoppa.” Jackson turns and grins at Louis, “We both reached for the last bottle of Mr muscle drain unblocker. It was kiska”

“Kismet” Harry murmurs.

“There he goes again. Stop showing off with all the french, Jesus!”

“How long have you been together?” Harry inquires, slapping Jackson's hand out of the way as he attempts to pinch his cheek.

“Six months.”

“How did you last so long without….nevermind” Louis dismisses his own question, knowing the answer would probably require lengthy descriptions and possibly photographic evidence.

“She’s been stationed in Afghanistan. The whole long distance crap is killing me.” Jackson continues.

“Stationed?” Louis raises an eyebrow.

“Aye! She’s a sniper.”

“You’re going out with a former underwear model, pastry chef and sniper, who can’t speak English?” Harry's tone is a mixture of doubt and wonderment.

“Yep! What?,” Jackson exclaims when Louis snorts acerbically at the notion,”People can have more than one job?”

Louis rolls his eyes and exhales deeply as Jackson takes out his phone, hits a button and beckons Harry to sit beside him on the couch. “Alright, love! It’s me, Jackson! Gonna hand you over to Harry.”

Handing Harry the phone.“Ok, tell her she’s dumped...but in a nice way.” Jackson whispers and attempts to stand up. 

Harry grabs his wrist. “Are you fucking kidding me? No way. You're an asshole. I’m not telling a sniper she’s dumped. Ever hear of the idiom “Kill the messenger ”.”

“Stupid name, no wonder you think they’re an idiot.” Jackson dislodges his wrist, “So do you want me to just keep on cheating on her? You’re so selfish Harry! I can’t believe you would do that to another human being.”

“You’re cheating on her?” Harry tries to get a grip on Jackson and fails as he retreats to the other side of Louis.

“Shut the fuck up Harry! She can hear you!” Jackson hisses.

“Thought she couldn’t understand English!”

“But you speak French, she can understand you!” Jackson nudges Louis and gestures towards Harry with his hand.

“Only when I’m speaking French you fucking dickhead!” Harry snaps.

“C’mon, please, just do it.” Jackson pleads, attempting a sad face.

“I’ll tell you how to say it then you can do it.”

“You know I can’t speak French.”

“Oh for fucks sake!” Harry, frustrated, stomps away with the phone.

“Why do I have the nagging feeling, details of that conversation will be read back to us in court?”  
Louis restarts his game.

*****

4.02pm Vans and Chlamydia

“I’m just afraid no-one is going to come.” Louis cups his mug with both hands and takes a long drink.

"If you have it, they will come". Jackson states simply lighting a cigarette.

“What?”

“Believe me, it’s a well known fact “If you build it, they will come” that’s based on market research and shit.”

“Market Research? That’s “Field of Dreams”, you idiot. A man who made a baseball pitch in his garden for ghosts? That's your market research?” Louis’ voice is thick with derision.

“Lou, why do you have to live quite so relentlessly in the real world?” Jackson blows smoke into his face.

“You'd be the first to admit that you're not the most rational thinker, Jackson.” Harry agrees.

“No I wouldn't!” 

“You still don't understand what happens in Ocean's Eleven” Louis agrees

“It's a complicated film, you dick.”Jackson protests, sitting forward.

“It really isn't.” Harry sniggers, shaking his head.

“Anyway, talking about Market Research. You guys should just get a van. You're not just a man anymore - you are a man with a van. You get a van, Lou, we could be men with ven.”

“Actually not a bad idea, helping people move, delivering stuff, dump runs, could be a nice wee earner.”

“The secret ingredient, “ Jackson waves his cigarette in the air, “ is crime. Stealing things just makes everything very cheap. Plus, you know how I feel about capitalism.”

“Yes, confused.” Louis quips.

Before Jackson can retort, Harry changes the subject, “Was your girlfriend really a sniper?”

“Yeah, she was. How cool would it be to pick off people you hate with a sniper rifle”

“Hardly describe that as cool.” Harry wrinkles his nose.

“Yeah you’re right, fun at first, but it would quickly become a bit of a chore. Still a good way to get rid of some interfering assholes. Though I’m sure I could think of better ways of killing them, I’ve watched enough CSI.”

“Yeah, murdering your enemies is quite a simple solution.Which I guess is why in ethics and law it's so frowned upon.” Harry says, but Jackson is oblivious to his mocking tone,“.You still going to therapy, Jackson?”

“What would I get from therapy?” He drops his cigarette into Louis mug, “A harsh, unremitting stare at the bare facts of my actual life. Ah, fuck that! Besides, I saw him eating a Twix! I couldn't take him seriously after that.”

“You wouldn’t speak so flippantly of death, if you had experienced it? Having a near-death experience has really changed the way I see things.” Harry states enigmatically.

Louis tenses, and attempts to communicate telepathically to Jackson not to ask a follow up question. 

He fails.

“Shit! Harry, what happened?”

“Lester had the stroke, not you, Harry.” Louis impatiently grumbles.

”I was right next to him. I was near death, Lou.”

“That’s not the same thing, you dick!”

“I’m an empath, I empathise. It’s a gift and a curse. I feel too much and too deep.”

Exasperated, Louis leans forward and shakes his finger at Harry “I’ve watched Grand Designs with you. That smile when some eco-glass gets delayed on its way from Antwerp and the nice couple gets pushed over budget. That’s the real you.” 

“How very dare you!!!” Harry is on his feet.

“C’mon you know you only like hearing about people’s holidays if they’re disastrous!”

“Bullshit!”

“I do too, at least I admit it.”

“Well aren’t you the moral compass, I shou…” Harry is interrupted by Jackson banging on the window. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Oi!,” Jackson shouts, “Oi Love!” as he bangs repeatedly on the window.

Harry and Louis join him and peer down into the street to see the focus of Jackson’s persistence. A beautiful blonde girl talking on her phone. She looks up and smiles.

“I’m coming down.” Jackson shouts and gestures wildly. “Ok, laters dickwads.”

With that Jackson bounds down the stairs and into the street, where he embraces the girl.

Who’s that?” Harry asks.

“No idea, but they're about to get chlamydia.”

*****

5.18pm The Bus Driver

The Vans flys through the air, just missing Harry as he finishes icing his cupcakes, bounces off the wall and into the fish tank. “Every-one is going to the party at Number 56, this is a fucking disaster Hazza. I’m gonna be a fucking laughing stock......my reputation is in ruins.” Louis leans against the counter beside him and crosses his arms.

“Never mind, little man,” Harry places his hand on his shoulder.

“But I told Godfrey we’re having a party!”

“We’ll tell him we called it off; wanted it to be just the three of us.”

Louis stalks the living room, his arms gesturing frantically. “But I need a crowd Haz. I thrive off empty and conditional admiration; if I’m not seen, I fail to exist!”

“C’mon, surely you’re not that shallow?”

“My God Harry, have we not met? Even the girls from the Happyshoppa aren’t coming; I must be losing my touch. I thought I was well in there; I was getting all the right vibes.”

“There will be other Happyshoppas...other girls...Let’s...”

“Is it possible I'm not as attractive as I think I am?”

“Anything's possible!”

“These people are supposed to be MY friends. That geezer at number 56 is a ballbag!! His sideburns are uneven and he wears ugly shoes. That’s it, the next time they want anything from me. I’m not in!”

Louis falls down onto the couch, punches a cushion before folding his arms. 

Harry observes him for a moment. “You try to make out that you are an individualist, but really you’re a confused adolescent desperately seeking acceptance from an undifferentiated ego mass that demands conformity!”

Louis glances up at him frowning. “I refuse to respond to that.”

“Because I speak the truth?”

“No ‘cause ‘ve not a clue what the fuck you just said!”

Harry sits down beside Louis, who manoeuvres himself so that he is lying on his side with his head in his lap. Harry’s hands gravitate towards his hair, but stop mid air before settling, one at his side and the other along the back of the couch. “It’s only one party, little man. Don’t let one disappointment make you give up on people.”

“People watch, “Love Island” and voted for Trump, you can’t trust people, Haz.”

“Lou, remember Jack Harware, the bus driver?”

“Fuck me Haz, you didn’t invite him, did ya?”

Harry laughs, “No, but you remember him?”

“Vaguely. Short, stout; face of a badger?”

“That’s him! Well, his wife died and left him in all this debt. Anyway, he fell behind in his mortgage and they were gonna take his house. He was so distraught that he drove his bus to the edge of the cliff at Widow’s Peak.”

“Oh. No! He wasn’t going to drive off, was he?”

“Yes, he was, Lou-Lou. He had reached the end of his tether. But do you know what happened?”

“What?”

“People, Lou, they clubbed together and helped him pay off the arrears on his mortgage. You see Lou; never underestimate those around you.”

Louis sits up and looks at him. “Who?”

“Who what?”

“Who clubbed together?”

“All the passengers on his bus...”

*****

6.47pm Tea Towels and Buttocks

Louis drags a full length mirror into the living room and considers himself from all angles. “Harry, what if I am losing my looks. I may have to resort to plastic surgery?”

Harry looks up from blow torching Brûléed Key Lime Tarts.

“Get a grip...you look gre-....fine, c’mon we judge a person by what's inside, not by what they wear or how they look.”

“Lucky for you, huh?”

Harry throws a tea towel at Louis, who ducks and it lands in the fish tank.

“My friends aren’t like every-one else, they’re the Donny elite.”

“What does that even mean?”

“How can I expect you of all people to understand?”

Their eyes meet. Harry can see how disappointment has dimmed the sparkle that usually emanates from Louis and his heart sinks. Setting down the blow torch, he walks towards Louis and places his hands on his shoulders. As he speaks, his voice low and close to Louis’s ear, his fingers lightly trace his forearms, skimming the fabric of his shirt. “Lou, you’re as cutting edge and youthful as you ever were.....you’re perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing!”

Louis turns to face him, they are so close he can feel Harry’s chest rise and fall against his own. Closing his eyes, the smell of Harry fills his nostrils, he sways slightly as their breathing rhythms synchronise. “Thanks Harry, you always know what to say.”

Harry can feel the heat radiating from the other man’s body and he is disorientated. Their foreheads touch briefly, and the contact sends a tremor throughout his body, Oh God, what is this?  
He pulls away and punches Louis playfully on the shoulder. “Here Lou, if I got surgery, I’d get new buttocks.”

“What?”

“‘Cause the ones I have, have a crack in them!”

Harry laughs as Louis rolls his eyes.“Oh dear God, I need a drink.”

“There’s punch, knock yourself out!”

“Believe me; I’m going to try.”

Their eyes meet and they share a smile, normal service has resumed.

*****

7.18pm Being for the Benefit of Mr Kite

Louis and Harry are sitting on the couch.

“I’m dangerously bored, Harold.”

“You could do the dishes.”

“I’m not that bored.”

“We could watch my film reel?”

“I think I’ll get stuck into those dishes.”

Harry sighs and looks away; Louis gets that familiar tightening in his chest.“Oh, go on then!”

Harry’s face explodes with joy and Louis feels his stomach flip as he watches half skips towards the video cabinet and opens the doors. He notices a bruise in the exposed skin of his lower back as he bends forward. Where did he get that? He resists the urge to reach out and touch it. But only just.

“Where’s the video player?”

“What? Oh, that dick at Number 56 borrowed it.”

“We have to get it back.”

“Off you go then!” Louis gestures towards the door.

“Oh no, not after the last time.” Harry slumps back into the couch.

“Oh yeah, he caught you perving on his missus.”

“Actually if you remember rightly, I was getting your kite, it’d gotten caught in their guttering, a complete misunderstanding.”

“Ok, so there’s you up a ladder looking into their bedroom while his wife is getting dressed. A misunderstanding? Yeah, right!”

“I was getting your kite...besides I’m not interested...”

Louis interrupts him, “But you didn’t have a kite, Harold!”

“Yes, and that was the fatal flaw in my explanation. You’d sent me to the wrong bloody house.”

“Hey! They all look the same, besides he never laid a finger on you.”

“Yeah, that’s because he knew he would be entering a whole world of pain. Those Jazzercise classes have done wonders for my anterior deltoid and pectoralis majors”

“Didn’t he say he thought you were too weird to hit?”

“Yeah, well, weird in an intimidating way.”

“Harold, you kept jumping about all over the place, randomingly punching the air with your eyes closed.”

“Psyching him out!!!”

“Shouting stuff in German.”

“Like the Zulu’s chanting as they confronted their foe.”

“You just freaked him out, he thought you were mentally challenged.”

“Well, it didn't help that you were shouting useless instructions from the roof.”

“It was for your own good, you know, with the way gravity works. From the roof, my words found you easier, as they floated downwards under the punishing weight of gravity. If I had been on the ground with you, with the height difference and all, my words would never have found you and just smashed on the pavement.”

Harry turns to look at Louis, “Do you ever listen to yourself when you talk?”

“Eh, I drift in and out.” Louis shrugs.

“Must be great being you!”

“It’s not bad!”

*****

8.08pm Mediators and Standard Lamps

Louis hangs up the intercom phone. “It’s Bandercheck!”

“No way! Lou, you didn’t invite that maniac?”

Bob Bandercheck bounds up the stairs, a dishevelled mass of directionless energy. “Hey Lou-Lou!”

He sees Harry and narrows his eyes. “Harold!”

Harry, fuming furiously from the couch, glares at him. “Bandercheck”

“God! Who do you have to blow, to get a drink in this joint?”

Louis gestures towards the punch “Help yourself.”

Bob pours himself a drink, “Who the fuck shat on your faces?”

Louis sits cross-legged on the couch beside Harry, “We’re bored!”

“Hey guys, there’s a party across the street, let’s go to that!” Bob takes a drink of the punch; most of it finding its way out of the sides of his mouth and down the front of his shirt.

“No fucking way!” Louis shakes his head, lying back into the cushions on the couch.

Harry stands up and walks towards Bob. “No sir, we’re waiting on Godfrey and besides we’re having a party, check out the food and drink situation. Selection of baked goods, canapes and nibbles! It's party central.”

Louis from his horizontal position on the couch raises his hand in a Rock n Roll gesture. “Yeah, this party is off the hook!”

Harry hits his feet with his hand. “You know what would cheer us all up?”

“A machete wielding maniac?” Louis mumbles.

“My film reel!”

Louis places his arm across his eyes, “Can I take my chances with a machete wielding maniac.”

Harry begins to pace, “We need some-one to go over to number 56 and get our video back, some-one who can handle difficult people.....like a mediator....I myself am fully versed in all aspects of...”

Louis interrupts him from the couch, “Some-one who isn’t Harry.”

“Or Louis,” Harry says, then when Louis catches his eyes adds, “Those cheekbones of yours are dangerous weapons, would shred his fists.”

Bob, who has been gorging on the cupcakes, comes towards the couch, his face covered in icing, his mouth full of sponge “Don't worry Lou-Lou. I'll handle this. I know all about Mediating.”

Harry stops pacing and narrows his eyes at him, “Are you sure?”

“You think you’re so smart, spending all your time reading books and looking at numbers and letters like they mean something.”

“They do. Do you even know how to read?”

“I get by, all right?”

Harry shakes his head as Louis sits up. “Hazza, maybe we should let Bandercheck talk to him!”

“This is a man who thinks the plural of goose is sheep.” 

Louis stands up and slaps Bob on the back of his head.

“HEY!”

“He did it.”, Louis points at the standard lamp in the corner, and Bob attacks it.

“OK, so he's a wild kind of useless.” Louis agrees as they watch Bob and the lamp roll around on the floor. “But he’s a childlike charm and balls of fuckin’ steel. He’ll just barge in and grab the video or we could break in and get it”

Harry looks at him in disbelief. “We're going to break into number 56?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Suppose you have a plan?”

“Yep, listen up; we’ll enter through the bathroom window at the back. The door to the kitchen will prob be guarded by lasers three inches above the floor, now you'll have to squeeze yourself to the size of a sponge and then crawl across the floor like a dolphin or some other amphibious mammal.”

Harry stares at Louis, who is grinning inanely at him, “Are you on crack? Ok, Bob you’re going in!”

*****

9.07pm Fingers and Cream

“So how’s Bob’s getting on, Lou?”

“The last time I saw him, he was at the head of a conga line.”

Harry puts his piping bag down, and admires his chocolate cake. Louis walks over to the counter and sticks his finger into the cake.

Harry hits his hand away and gives him an irritated look.

Louis licks the cream from his finger, his tongue curling around his finger, distracting Harry, who tries to lean on the counter for support, misses it and catches his hand roughly on the handle of the cupboard. 

Louis laughs, “No wonder you’re covered in bruises!” he scoops up another fingerful of cream and offers it to him. “C’mon Haz, enjoy the fruits of your labour.”

Harry's eyes follow his finger as he moves it towards him, grabbing Louis’ wrist and stares at the blob of cream. As their eyes lock, he feels his heart beat quicken and a bolt of exhilarated fear courses through his body. More than anything he wants to take the finger in his mouth. But this is Louis; what’s he doing? Is he teasing him? Does he know? Oh God, what do I do? His head spins, sweeping him out of reality on a tidal wave of emotion; it’s just the two of them, trapped in a loaded moment on the cusp of something ... but what? Louis’ eyes are intense; Harry feels his lips slowly part as he moves Louis’ hand closer to his mouth-

“HEY GUYS! SO WHERE’S THE PARTY AT?”

Harry pushes him away so vigorously, that Louis knocks their unexpected visitor over and lands on top of him. “If I wasn't so sure you were a lesbian Lou-Lou; I'd say you were coming on to me.”

“Hey Lester, how did you get in?” Harry tries to sound jovial as he lifts Lester’s walking stick.

Helping Lester up, Louis glares at Harry, blood at the corner of his mouth.

“Your door was open, man.”

Harry mouths the words “I’m sorry” to Louis who pushes past him, his shoulder catching him roughly on the arm.

“What did you say, Lester?” Harry asks absentmindedly, as he watches Louis disappear into the bathroom.

“Your door was lying five sheets to the wind, Harry; any crazy bastard could have walked in off the street.”

“Indeed.” Harry mutters, still focused on the closed door. “Help yourself to the Canapé section. I’ll just be a minute”

“Ahhhh, Coleslaw. Not adventurous, but it gets the job done. That reminds me, I should have sex with my wife tonight.”

Harry knocks gently on the bathroom door. “Lou?”

“What?”

“Open the door!”

Silence.

“Lou. Please!”

He leans his head against the door when suddenly it opens and he half stumbles into the bathroom. 

Louis grabs his arm, helping him steady himself. He then sits on the toilet as Harry closes the door and perches on the edge of the bath. 

Looking at the floor, Harry whispers, “Sorry, he startled me.”

“Startled? Doing something you were ashamed of?” he sneers, watching the other man closely.

Harry shakes his head, his eyes remaining on the floor.

“He’s fucking blind Haz.” Louis thumps his thighs in exasperation.

Harry looks up, meeting Louis’ defiant stare.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I know, I think I must have caught it on Lester’s cane” he fingers the cut on his lip.

“Let me have a look.” Harry takes his jaw in his hand and studies the cut at the edge of his mouth. “It’s not that deep...it should heal quickly.” He takes a piece of toilet roll, dampens it under the tap and kneeling in front of him, cleans his cut.

Louis’ eyes never leave Harry’s face. God, he is sexy. Those glorious green eyes, the head of unruly curls, the roughness of his jaw line; what he would give to feel it against his neck. Louis closes his eyes, struggling to control the urges that have been tormenting him.

“There you go, little man!” Harry stares up at him, his hand still on his jaw. Louis breathes in that unmistakable smell that can only be described as Harry; so intoxicating that he feels his eyes droop as if drugged. Watching Harry through his eyelashes; he moves his head and very softly kisses the inside of his hand, gently sucking on the flesh of his palm, then moving to his fingers. Louis never once takes his eyes off Harry who is now swaying slightly, his eyes closed and his lips parted.

“Stop it.”

The words are spoken so quietly, Louis almost misses them.

“STOP IT!” Suddenly Harry pulls his hand away and stands up. “I can’t......just stop Louis.......don’t touch me....you can’t ever touch me.”

“What? Harry?” Louis is on his feet, “You can’t ignore it.”

“It? There is no It!”

“IT is all around us, Harry! In every look, every word,every touch, in every breath. It will crush us, if we don’t face up to it.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve no idea what you’re talking about?”

Louis shakes his head. “You’re a coward Harry. You’ve no idea what it took for me to ...” His voice trails off; he looks at Harry and shakes his head. “We better get back to the party. Who knows what we’re missing, could all be kicking off.”

He goes to open the door, but Harry grabs his shoulder; he shrugs it off, “No touching! Right Harry!”

“Louis, you’re my friend, my best friend.”

“Yeah...friends Harry, that’s what we are; friends, got it.”

*****

10.01pm Hookers and Strawberries

“Hey Lester, don’t forget we’re invited to The Jam-man’s Christmas Party, will you?” Harry asks as he watches Louis fix his hair at the full length mirror.

“Harry, I hate that guy, can't we tell him that your mother died?” Lester gestures towards Harry with an Arancini ball.

“Lester, I'm not going to lie about something like that.”

“All right, all right, I'll kill your mother. God, when did Christmas become so complicated?”

“C’mon Jam-man’s cool, Lester!” Harry says.  
“He's not cool.”

“What do you mean? He’s always surrounded by people. They follow him everywhere. He's like the Pied Piper of cool. Pied Piper was cool wasn't he?”

“Pied Piper wasn't cool, he took all those kids into a cave.” Louis turns from the mirror and puts his hands on his hips.

“No, I mean before that phase; when it was just the rats.” Harry asserts avoiding Louis' stare.

Louis snorts dismissively and turns his attention to Lester, “Why do you hate him?”

“He’s the reason me and the wife split up last year”

“How come?” Louis takes a seat beside Lester.

“Well, young man,” Lester replies, settling his hands on his rotund belly, “the wife was away visiting her sister and he turned up at my house with seven hookers, and I said to him, “Okay Jam-man, that's it. You and five of those hookers have to go.”

Harry reaches out and touches Louis’s arm, which he shakes off. “Then what happened?”

“Let’s just say it was a very profitable night all round, but the wife was not amused when she found out!”

“How did she find out?” Louis asks turning his back on Harry, focusing only on Lester.

“Well her suspicions were first aroused when a couple of the girls began using our spare room to turn their tricks and display themselves in our front window. The missus cut the crotches out of all my pants.It took me 3 days to realise, it’d been a mild autumn.” Lester laughs as he rubs his belly. “Hey, if every woman dumped her husband for turning their home into a brothel, no one would be married, am I right?”

Louis laughs, but the sound coming out of his mouth is at odds with the hardness of his mouth and clenched jaw. Lester slaps Louis’s thigh. Harry pulls his hands through his hair and walks over to the window. “It’s certainly kicking off at 56.”

Harry watches as Bob appears at the front door topless, only to disappear again as if pulled by a pair of invisible hands. “Looks like we won’t be getting my tape any time soon.”

“Sex tape?” Lester inquires.

“No! Nothing like that?”

“Harry’s not the type to make a sex tape. You know with all the sexual repression and what ‘ave ya.” Louis’ bitterness is almost palpable.

“Yeah, but he watches porn surely!” Lester sits forward.

“Just because you like to eat doesn’t mean you cook, Lester.” Harry offers a forced chuckle, trying to dispel the mounting hostility.

“But you do like to cook.” Lester screws his face up confused.

“Just an expression, Lester.” Harry leans against the window frame watching Louis pour himself some  
punch.

“Nevermind son. You're a sexual civilian, stick with missionary and leave the disgusting stuff to me.”

Louis groans and drains his drink in one shallow, then wipes his mouth aggressively with the back of his hand.

Lester waves his walking stick in the air, “I think I speak for everyone when I say, Number 56 and everyone there can fornicate themselves with an iron stick.”

Harry watches Louis as he refills his glass and downs it like before. Feeling his eyes on him, Louis looks over; Harry smiles weakly, Louis closes his eyes and shakes his head.

Lester pulls himself up off the couch, “Harry, my good man there’s no denying your culinary skills!” he says as he helps himself to more Arancini balls. “These gooey balls are particularly delicious.What is your secret?”

“Thanks Lester, it’s nice to know my efforts are appreciated”

Louis catches Harry's gaze, “Yeah Harry, but what are your secrets?”

Harry’s face reddens. He turns his attention to the window. 

Louis joins Harry at the window as Lester begins to tell them a story concerning his butcher, a wheelbarrow and a lava lamp. “So, there’s Peter with his wheelbarrow...”

Harry reaches out and touches Louis’s arm, “Please Louis!” he whispers. Louis is unresponsive, his eyes fixed on the street below. 

Harry finds his eyes drawn to his snug shirt gripping his supine frame. Harry can see the outline of his nipples and his chest hair in the gaps between his buttons. It is only when he feels Louis’s gaze on him, that he realises he has been squeezing his arm.

Harry loosens his grip, “Sorry, I....” Louis nods, his lips impossibly red and moist. 

Harry leans against the window frame for support; as the room is sways around him. Louis places his arms around Harry’s waist, resting his cheek against his chest. Harry is overcome with the urge to grab Louis’s hair. 

“Then Peter swung the leg of Lamb.I do sort of like it when he’s rude to me. Hopefully that’s more a psychological defect than a weird sexual thing.”

In his effort to control it, his hands are left hovering over Louis’ head.  
“Tell you what, that crack is really moreish.”  
He can feel Louis’s hand stroke his back, he closes his eyes and rests his chin on Louis’s head. He can feel the tips of Louis’s hair against the palms of his hands....

“...terrorising cats to show them who’s boss...”

Harry can smell his shampoo. Strawberries; the smell that fills the flat when Louis is in the shower. Strawberries. He needs to touch his hair, is it as soft as it looks?

“There’s Ninja!”

“What?” A dazed Harry mutters.

Louis is now at the window, banging it, getting the attention of an attractive brunette in the street. “She’s well hot, don’t ya think Harry?”

Louis waves at the girl, who blows him a kiss.

“She’s ok!”

“Not your type, eh?”

Harry stares at the spot where Louis’ neck joins his shoulder. “Not really, I guess she is pretty in a way, but I met her in the Happyshoppa last week, brown rice and pop tarts, chamomile tea and economy vodka, c’mon that’s a car crash of a shopping basket.”

“So as you can guess, the doctor was baffled how the lava lamp got stuck...”

The girl points to number 56, Louis shakes his head, she shrugs and disappears into the house across the street.

“Never mind Lou.” Harry places his hand on Louis’s shoulder.

“It’s alright Haz.”

“Maybe you should ask her out sometime?”

Louis turns and looks directly at Harry. “Maybe, I will.”

“Some people think that dandelions are weeds. But you know I always think, who the hell decided tulips were so great?” Lester continues from the couch.

Harry smiles at Louis. “She won’t be able to resist you”

“I’m not completely irresistible, apparently.”

The two men stare at each other, Harry feels his chest tighten.

“If two people love each other, but they just can't seem to get it together, when should they give up? “Never” I told her.”

Harry and Louis turn to Lester, who is finishing off his glass of punch. “What?” they ask in unison.

“Haven’t you been listening? Ahhhh man, you missed one hell of a story! You both need to pay attention more to what’s going on around you. No wonder you’re both single.”

*****

10.54pm Bellyaches and Inevitability

Harry and Louis are sitting on the couch, Louis is reading a magazine. Lester has left.

“Let’s have some of the punch.” Harry suggests.

“Careful Harry, remember last week?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Last week, you’d two pints with Lester at ‘The Pig and Trout’ and you were wasted.”

“No I wasn’t!!”

“You could hardly talk.”

“I had bitten my tongue.”

“You threw up on the stairs!”

“I had a stomach virus.”

“You fell off the couch.”

“And an inner ear infection.”

Louis rolls his eyes and goes back to his magazine.

“Listen, I can hold my drink!”

“You would think by the size of ya!”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Sorry, please don’t sit on me!”

Harry rubs his belly. “I don’t understand it. I exercise, eat healthy, you are what you eat, Lou.”

“And you clearly went out and devoured a big fat guy, didn't ya?”

“All I eat is brown rice and steamed vegetables.”

“Aye, right! And the rest.”

Harry lifts his shirt to look at his stomach. “On my film reel, I thought I looked a little chunky, but they do say the camera adds 10 pounds.”

“Yeah! But how many cameras were on you?”

“You’ve never taken my acting career seriously!”

“You have a career and you didn’t tell me?”

Harry sinks deeper into the couch and crosses his arms. 

“C’mon Haz. It's a joke. You’re too easily offended.”

“Can’t believe you said that!”

Louis puts aside his magazine and curls up beside him, his head on his shoulder. 

Harry observes him out of the corner of his eye as he places a hand on his bare stomach, his index finger teasing the rim of his belly button. The circular movements of Louis’s hand slowly increase in size, his fingers slipping under the waistband of his trousers, Harry’s breath catches in his throat, his hand finding Louis’s thigh, “I like your belly”, Louis mumbles into Harry’s neck.

“What?” Harry shifts in his seat and pulls his shirt down, dislodging Louis, who resumes his former position.

Louis returns his attention to his magazine, quickly flicking through the pages, aware Harry is watching him. Trying hard to control his voice he says, “Harry, I guess I thought your acting was just a phase. You've gone through quite a few, you know, like those two weeks you spent narrating your own life.”

Their eyes meet briefly, as Harry shifts nervously on the couch, and drags his hand through his hair. “Yes, This...this ain’t no phase, Harry Styles is no quitter,” to his own ears his voice sounds artificial and forced, so he falls back into the comforting arms of ridicule, “ Unlike yourself; you come from a whole line of quitters. I’m constantly surprised you ever got here and didn’t give up half way out the birth canal!”

Louis reaches up and tucks an errant curl behind Harry’s ear, letting his fingers linger on his neck and then move slowly downwards towards his shoulder.

Harry moves awkwardly in his seat and then clears his throat, he is unable to meet Louis’ gaze. “OK, how about playing a game? Monopoly, Scrabble, ohhhh Trivial Pursuit...”

“I've got a better idea. Let's go play ‘swallow-the-stuff-under-the-sink.’

Louis lies back on the couch, swinging his legs across Harry’s lap.

“C’mon Louis it’ll be fun!”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea! Face it Harry, you get far too competitive.”

“I am so not competitive. In fact, I am the most non-competitive person you will ever meet. So I win.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at Louis, his eyes twinkling. Louis smiles, closes his eyes trying to control his heart beat, which to him seems to fill the entire flat.

“Lou, are you going to ask out that girl?”

To Harry it looks like Louis has his eyes closed, but he is watching Harry intently through his lashes. “Was thinkin’ ‘bout it!”

“When?”

Louis observes for him for a moment. “What’s it to ya, Harold?”

“I was just wondering, that’s all.”

Harry is mindlessly playing with the fabric of Louis’s jeans, biting his bottom lip. 

Louis feels as if there is an invisible force pulling him into the couch via his stomach. He is grateful that he is lying down, as his legs would be incapable of supporting him at this moment, like all the other moments that start out like this and end up no-where. He took a chance today and was rejected; he’s not sure he is willing to risk being rejected again.

“Well, I kinda told her I was a footballer, so I might...”

“What have I told you about lying to impress people?”

“That it’s a good idea?”

“You of all people don’t need to lie to impress anyone.”

Louis smiles, his eyes still closed.

Harry continues, “All you have to do is walk into a room, and people just gravitate towards you, Lou. I’d love to enter a room like you. I never make good entrances.”

“You’ve made some pretty good exits, though!”

Harry nips Louis, who grabs at his hand. Louis holds his breath, waiting for Harry to pull away, but he doesn’t.

“Lou, you’re so lucky. You’ve such a wonderful way about you. People like you.”

“People like you too Hazza. What about at your Jazzercise classes?”

“They look at me and see a loser. Except that guy with the lazy eye. He sees a loser and the snack machine.”

Louis raises himself up on his elbows, still holding Harry’s hand. “You’ve so much going for you, you’ve no idea.”

“Yes, I'm disturbed, I'm depressed, I'm inadequate. I've got it all!”

“Harry, you’re nothing short of everything.”

“Wow, that was bordering on sincerity, Lou.”

“I mean it.”

“People think I’m weird.”

Louis squeezes his hand; removes his legs from Harry’s lap and repositions himself so that he is kneeling beside him. “We’re all a little weird. We just need to find that weirdness that is compatible with ours and fall in mutual weirdness.”

“Mutual weirdness?”

“Otherwise known as…” Louis places his hand on Harry’s cheek, his thumb almost touching his lips. 

Harry’s mouth is dry and his tongue feels suddenly too big for his mouth. He fingers the buttons on Louis’s shirt, “As what?”

“Love Harry, I love you so much, I have no idea where I end and you begin.”

“But...”

“No buts Harry; no more buts. Don’t you get it? I just, I can't take this anymore. I can't stand next to you without wanting to hold you. I can't look into your eyes without feeling that longing, that desperate needing you only read about in trashy novels. I can't talk to you without wanting to touch you, hold you, kiss you, smell you, and feel you. God, I just, I can't allow another day to go by without just getting it out there, regardless of the outcome. I know, I know that some part of you is hesitating, and if there's a moment of hesitation, then that means you feel something too. There isn't another person on this fucking planet who has ever made me feel the way I do when I’m with you. You’re not perfect, I’m certainly not perfect, but we’re perfect for each other. You can't deny that.”

Harry stares at Louis, his face unreadable. Louis’s heart prepares to break as he sighs and closes his eyes. He is about to remove his hand from Harry’s face, when he feels Harry remove it for him. 

Louis feels the tears sting the back of his eyes. He drops his head. Then he feels Harry’s lips against the inside of his wrist. Louis’s tears flow, tears of relief and joy. “To me you are perfect. I am some-one else when I am with you, some-one more like myself.”

Harry can feel Louis’s hot sweet breath on his cheek. He is shaking, but it is not because he is nervous. It is as if everything has been leading up to this one moment and finally he is able to replenish his control and let it happen. He pulls Louis onto his lap and tips his head back so he can see his face as he looks down at him. 

Louis brings his face so close to Harry’s that their lips are almost touching, just one slight movement apart. He parts his lips slightly, latching onto Harry’s bottom lip tugging it. 

Harry groans as his own lips part and welcomes his mouth; it is slow and gentle at first as they find their own rhythm, before it deepens and becomes more urgent. He grabs Louis by the shoulders and pushes him away.  
Louis, his head swimming, looks down at Harry, Oh No! Please don’t not now. He opens his mouth to speak, but Harry places his fingers on his lips, reaches up and touches Louis’s hair. “I knew it would be soft; so soft.”

“Harry, what....”

Harry buries his face in Louis’s neck, sucking his earlobe, his rough chin grazing Louis’s neck and shoulder. 

Louis grabs Harry’s hair as waves of pleasure flow throughout his body, every part of it becoming electrified. “Oh Harry...” he pulls Harry’s head backwards by his hair and finds his mouth again. 

“Come with me.” Harry groans into Louis' mouth. He takes him by the hand and leads him towards the bedrooms.

“What about Godfrey?”

“Oh. Didn’t I say? I saw him an hour ago; staggering away from the party at number 56 with Lester and Bob”

“What!!!?” Louis is surprised.

“I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?”

The End.


End file.
